


Painting Soulmates

by Bellatrix_Wannabe_89



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A lot of sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BDSM, Confused and Horny Switch Jaime, Dominant Cersei, Every Lannister Just Wants to Fuck Brienne, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Like... a LOT a lot, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest, Submissive Brienne, Threesome - F/F/M, Twincest
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28113168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89/pseuds/Bellatrix_Wannabe_89
Summary: Cersei finds drawings Jaime did of her and Brienne in rather intimate situations. She decided to punish him for the ultimate sin of wanting another woman not with a typical stint in the dungeon, but by teasing him mercilessly with exactly what he wants. Little did Cersei know; she would soon wind up wanting the exact same thing...
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 25
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A few things are different. Jaime and Brienne are in King's Landing for a few weeks and the wedding happens without a hitch. Fic inspired by Hattersarts artwork on Tumblr. https://hattersarts.tumblr.com/post/164725013895/cerseibrienne-is-my-life-blood-whoops   
> https://hattersarts.tumblr.com/post/183273799735/so-briecersei-huh

Qyburn. Bloody Qyburn. This was all his fault. He was the one who told Jaime he had to strengthen his left hand. The disgraced maester encouraged Jaime to exercise it, write with it, practice swordplay with it... 

Draw with it.

Jaime had never been interested in the arts. He had far better things to do then sit down with a bit of charcoal and blank parchment. He had swords to swing, horses to ride, a king to protect and a sister to fuck. But now, with his coordination no better than a child, he had no choice. At first it was a struggle to even hold the bit of charcoal. The tiny little nub kept slipping between his fingers and he would throw it in frustration and weep bitter angry tears. He went from being one of the best swordsmen in Westeros to barely being able to make scribbles on paper. 

Then Brienne had to butt in. After they sparred he would tell her of his problems, how he was so close to just giving up, to just focusing on his penmanship and his sword skills. Sure drawing might help with the finer motor skills but it wasn’t a necessity for him. She wouldn’t let him though. She told him he had to do what the maester ordered, he had to practice his drawing. When he barked that she had no right to tell him what he had to do, she just looked at him with those big blue eyes and told him something that hit harder than any strike with blunted steel. 

She said she would understand if he quit but she would be disappointed in him.

That night he worked with the little nub of charcoal from sundown to sunup; managing to draw dozens and dozens of little stick figures and simple shapes, each one getting progressively better and better. 

He wanted to show it to Brienne but he shook the idea from his head. He was not a child who needed praise for drawing squares and circles on parchment. But when they sparred the next day, and she saw his left hand covered in the black charcoal dust, Brienne grinned and he felt a swelling of pride in his chest before he told the blonde that her smile was as ugly as the rest of her. Her blue eyes twinkled, and the two began their slow dance. 

Weeks passed. His sparring skills grew to where he might have been able to keep up with a (very) green squire and his penmanship was almost legible (to him). But his drawing… that was actually advancing quite well. There was nothing he had to relearn, it was all brand new to him anyway, so his artwork got better and better, and his drawings became more and more difficult. He moved on from shapes to stick figures, to faces then bodies, and pretty soon he could even distinguish and even recognize the different faces he drew.

They weren’t hyper-realistic. There were some artists who could draw and you would swear they just peeled the face off of a man and stuck it to the parchment. His had dark charcoal lines, simple but each figure distinctive. His imagination had never been a wonder, he left that to his brother and his books, so rather than create someone new, Jaime drew people closest to him, and they always seemed to end up with their insides masking their outsides.

Joffrey was a handsome boy in real life, but in his drawings he always looked dastardly. An ugly sneer, a furrowed brow, thin wormy lips. Tyrion always looked much more distinguished and proportioned, Tommen looked far younger than his age of four and ten, and Cersei… well... Cersei was a world of her own. Beautiful but hateful and a cold glint in eyes that easily seduced. She never smiled, she smirked like a lioness drawing in its prey. Her breasts were a bit oversized as was her hips, and her skirts and corsets were ill fitting and hiked up, revealing perfectly round tits or a nice pink cunt. Jaime once tried to draw himself with her, but everytime he drew the golden hand or his stump, he couldn’t picture anything other than disgust on her face and that’s how it would wind up on the parchment. He would throw those away and instead just draw his sweet sister alone, alluring and loathsome with long blonde hair billowing around her sharp angled shoulders, and he would often start touching himself as he looked at her charcoal self, seeing as how the real Cersei was still punishing him for ‘taking too long’ to get back to her.

Then there was Brienne. 

She was the most infuriating to sketch. He gave her a sea of freckles, a broken nose, wide plump lips, a stern look on her face, but no matter what he did, no matter how faithfully he drew his traveling companion he could not make her ugly. Her eyes were big and deep and beautiful which was how they always looked but the rest of her face was not supposed to be pretty, she was ugly! She was  **_Brienne_ ** ! 

Then her body... He did not give her an excessive chest like he gave Cersei, and her thighs and hips were as thick as he remembered from the tub no more no less but her form wasn’t monstrous on parchment, it was almost appealing. Small breasts suited her and her hips and thighs (and good gods those long legs) were not as unattractive as he often told himself they were.

He drew her muscles hard and strong and well pronounced, something that should have repulsed him but instead he found himself half wondering what those muscles would feel like if he were to touch them. She held him once in the bath. She was strong and gentler than he would have thought, gentler than Cersei, but he hadn’t touched her and absurdly; he felt his cock stir as he looked at the drawing and imagined running his hands over her. 

He mostly sketched her in armor but lately he would have her go without. He would draw the charcoal Brienne in trousers and a jerkin, never a dress, and one night he decided to have those small pert nipples poking through a thin silk shirt and left one of her shoulders bare with a hint of collar bone showing. He didn’t draw her in breeches but instead just had the shaft barely reach the bottom of her ass and JUST covered what was between her legs. Her eyes were big and blue and her lips parted just so. She looked vulnerable, she looked innocent, she looked meek, she looked submissive… 

Jaime gnawed at his lip as his hand drifted to his trousers. After he untied the ties he was almost amazed to find himself harder than steel. 

This was wrong. This was insane. This was Brienne, the honorable stubborn and ugly as a mule maid who never would have laid with a man like him.

_ No! It shouldn’t matter what she would do,  _ **_YOU_ ** _ aren’t supposed to want her even if she was begging for it! _ But that thought quickly had the opposite effect he wanted as he now pictured the stubborn naive wench begging for his tongue, his lips, his fingers, his cock…

Jaime picked up his latest drawing, and he let out a low groan as he began to stroke what was between his legs. As he grew hard and smooth in his caressing hand, he closed his eyes and let out a soft moan, grunting as he moved his hand up and down, up and down as the thought of her filled him with an ache in his stomach and his groin tightened. Instead of Cersei; he pictured Brienne, and he pictured everything he would do to her.

She would be all hard muscles and small tits and straw colored hair… He would buried his face in the crock of her neck as his lips would nuzzle the soft pale skin. Her deep voice would mewl and whimper as his fingers rubbed between her long legs, and he would make her beg before he gave into her. Jaime would kiss and suck and lick her tiny breasts, the small curves easily fitting in his hand and mouth. His tongue would flick the erect pink bud and his teeth would scrape against it, making her cry out his name while her short nails would dig into the muscles in his back.

Jaime would spend a while there, on his favorite part of any woman, but eventually he would kneel between her legs and kiss and nip at her creamy thigh. Her long fingers would rake through his mane and pull as he devoured her clit, noisily slurping at her slickness and the taste would be salty and sweet and perfect. He would suck at that tiny nub, he would grab at her ass, he would push his tongue inside her until finally she would flood his mouth with that delectable creaminess. Her screams as he claimed her for his own, could be heard throughout the whole of the city, and most importantly, she would call him ‘Ser.’ 

He came with a loud grunt and gasp as he spilled into his hand and onto his sheets, the fading picture of a desperate Brienne fading from his mind as he fumbled to flip over the drawing, as if he could ever get that out of sight or out of mind.

Cersei never begged. He always had to go to her first unless she wanted something from him. She would give but he had to ask. She let him believe he was in control but he knew better. She controlled how hard, how fast, how slow, how rough, how gentle… even when she went down on him it wasn’t to bring him pleasure it was to get her twin to wrap himself around her fragrant fingers, and he did so willingly. His sister wholey dominated his body, his mind and soul when he was inside her and oftentimes Jaime would think to himself that was what truly got Cersei off more than just the sex itself. Owning someone’s entire being, the control, the dominance… that was what made Cersei slick. That was what made his sweet sister purr.

He felt himself stir again at the thoughts of her. He stroked, harder and faster, faster and harder as he pictured Cersei beneath him, her voice a low growl as she raked her fingers through his hair, not begging but ordering him to go faster and faster and he would obey, without question. She would cover his hand with his and put it over her throat, making him squeeze and he knew better than to take his hand away until Cersei gave him permission. 

He knew her body well. He knew every dip, every curve, every subtle imperfection, what made her gasp and dig her dagger nails into him and knew what earned him a sharp slap and a barked order never to do that again, the reddening mark in his face urging both of them on until the two of them came together seconds apart from one another, and the lion roared as he spent himself for the second time that night. 

Jaime flopped back onto the bed as sweat dripped from his body, a guilt eating at him he never felt before. How could a man picture a friend, a companion, a fellow warrior in that position ten minutes before he came at the thought of another woman, his lover since he was thirteen and the mother of his children? It was unfair to both and torture for him knowing he could have neither again or ever. 

The heat in his room was now uncomfortably stifling. He cleaned up his mess as best he could, Jaime would definitely need the sheets changed tomorrow, and did his best to fall asleep hoping to dream of neither. 

—

Jaime swung his sword as the two sparred on the jutting hidden cliff besides the sea, Brienne easily parrying but he was delighted to hear her grunt with effort, something he had yet to draw from her lips when they fought since he lost his hand.

Sweat beaded on both their brows as they went back and forth, back and forth, uppercuts, parry, lunging, step and slide, slide and step, moving into her and forcing her to retreat until she would gain the upper hand and advance on Jaime. 

She was strong. Very strong, and now the far better swordsman than he was whereas when they fought on the bridge they were more evenly matched. If they met in battle before his stunt in the dungeon and he was unfettered he could have taken her, and what was more was Brienne knew it. She had too many tells, or maybe Jaime just knew her so well, but on the flip side she knew him just as well. Each knew what the other would do seconds before they did it and could counter in turn.

“We would be unstoppable in battle on the same side,” he told her once after their training as they shared a wineskin of water. “It’s rare to know the soldier by your side so well, knowing what they’ll do before they even think of it themselves. If you weren’t so duty bound to the Starks I would ask you to be my lieutenant in the wars to come.” 

Her face went red, as it always did when he paid her a compliment. She muttered out her thanks and excused herself, and Jaime was left with a full mind and empty wineskin.

His thoughts were broken with a painful smack against his hand with her blunted steel.

“Pay attention,” Brienne ordered him in her no nonsense voice. 

He glared at her. He didn’t even have another hand to rub away the sting. “That hurt.”

“You think it’ll hurt less in battle if you lose your train of thought?”

“Well in battle I wouldn’t allow my mind to wonder because I wouldn’t be fighting someone who grimaces before every lunge so I know exactly what’s coming.” 

She hit him again. A thin line of red appeared on the back of his hand and his anger grew. 

_ I won’t beat her with swords _ , he decided as he swung his tourney sword and having it met with a shower of sparks as she parried. He was gonna have to do something unexpected if he wanted a win. 

Jaime let her get a hit in his side and he bent over, holding the spot where she landed her steel. “Stop!” he begged, grimacing. “Stop for a second, please!”

Later he would, almost, feel bad for the fear and worry shining bright in her big blue eyes. “What‘s wrong?” she asked, panicked concern soaking her words. “Are you alright?” He didn’t answer and just groaned, clutching his side tighter. Brienne lowered her sword and rested a hand on his shoulder. She was warm, and he shuddered. “Jaime-.”

_ Now. _

He twisted himself around and with all his strength he lowered his shoulders and slammed into her, sending her flying to the ground with him sitting astride her when they landed. He cradled her head so that she wouldn’t smack it against the rock when they fell and he smirked as he pretended to grab an imaginary dagger from his waistband and held it at her throat.

“Maybe it’s you who needs to pay attention,” he said with a sharp grin as he looked down at the wide eyed woman, quickly pinning her arms above her head with his forearm so she couldn’t fight back.

“You tricked me,” she said, the accusation thick in her tone.

“All's fair in love and war. Besides, this is what we’re training for right? To help compensate for my lack of a sword hand?” Brienne glowered but she didn’t argue. In fact, he swore he saw a glimmer of a smile in her eyes.

He should have gotten off her then. He should have been the honorable knight she saw him as and offered her his hand. But instead he stayed where he was, looking down in her eyes as she gazed into his. Her muscles were hard and well defined as was his but there was still a woman’s softness to her, her breasts, small as they were, were pressed against his chest and when he brushed his fingers against the pale skin of her neck he found it as tender and delicate as any other woman’s. He buried his hand in her pale blonde hair. It was much softer than he imagined it to be.

“Ser Jaime?”

Her voice saying his name, trembling slightly, drew his attention to her face. She was nervous. Scared, confused, an endearing innocence to her but he could see something else in her as well. 

He was nestled between her long legs and he could feel himself stirring. Jaime quickly scampered up from the ground, thinking of Joffrey, of Myrcella, of Tommen, of his father, of anything to get himself to calm down before she noticed what was pressing against his breeches.

“Forgive me, My Lady,” he muttered, looking down at the ground to avoid meeting her eyes. Not that he needed too, because she was staring hard at the rock beneath their feet for that very same reason. “The heat, it’s getting to my head.”

“Of course.”

With a curt nod of his head Jaime turned and headed back up the pathway to the castle, thankful that Brienne chose to stay behind to give him some space.

That can’t happen again. It cannot. She’s an honorable woman, a maiden, she’s fought to be taken seriously as both a woman and a knight. It was wrong for Jaime to lust after her like she was some common whore. 

But, a voice inside him said as he followed the trail towards the keep, she could have pushed him off if she wanted. She could have shoved him off or flipped so she was on top or demanded he get off the moment he fell between her legs. 

Once inside the castle he headed up to the white sword tower. When he was nearly there though one of the guards told him that the queen requested his presence.

Jaime sighed. He was hot, he was tired, and he just wanted to forget what had just transcribed between him and Brienne. But he grumbled out his thanks for letting him know and headed off towards her chambers. 

“Come in,” her voice rang through the door after he knocked. He took a deep breath, steeled his spine and walked in, a passive look on his face.

Until he saw Cersei in her sprawling golden tub encrusted with jewels, back turned to him. Her long golden hair was pinned up and he watched as beads of sweat and water slowly trickled down the back of her neck. 

“If you’re busy, Your Grace, I can come back,” Jaime said, not moving from his spot.

“‘Your Grace’. How formal.” Each word was somewhere between a purr and a hiss, and it sent a shudder down his spine. “How many men do you have on guard tonight?”

He took a step closer into her chambers.“Ser Boris is on duty tonight, then tomorrow I believe-.”

“So one man. You have one man guarding the king.”

“One man has always guarded the king when he sleeps. Has something happened?”

“You tell me.” She pointed to something besides her bed, a parchment on her stand. Jaime went over and grabbed it, doing his best not to let his eyes drift to her.

“One of the kitchen workers choked to death.” He set the paper back on her desk and was finally forced to look over at her. The candlelight placed around the edge of the bath gave her a soft glow, reflecting off her smooth skin and reflecting in her bright green eyes. “Tragic but I don't see how that’s relevant.”

“It was after she snuck some of Joffrey's leftovers.”

“Has the king fallen ill?”

“No. I made Qyburn make sure he purged whatever he ate before it could take hold.”

Jaime rubbed his brow. “Cersei, it was probably an accident. There’s no need-.”

“Someone tries to poison your son and you deem it a simple accident? Was it your hand they hacked off in Harrenhal or your manhood?”

“It was Dukensdale,” he said dryly. “But it warms my heart to know you’re so invested in my maiming. Will that be all your Grace?”

Cersei pursed her lips, plump but not excessively so like Briennes, before she rose from her bath. Her breasts and hips were full, her hourglass figure stunning. She unpinned her hair and it tumbled past her shoulders, swaying as she sauntered over to him. Jaime kept his eyes locked on hers, emerald green on emerald green, until she was right in front of him, neither one giving an inch as they stared at one another. The perfumed water dripping to the wooden floor was the only sound in the chambers for a long while. 

“Yes,” she finally told him, her voice a dangerous whisper, emphasizing and overly enunciating every syllable. “That will be all,  _ Lord Commander _ .”

When she turned away from him Jaime reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. Before he could even blink she whipped around and slapped him hard across the face, wildfire burning in her eyes.

“I said,” the lioness growled, taking a step closer until her wet naked body was pressed against his and Jaime felt his cock harden painfully tight against his breeches and he knew she felt it too. She reached up and grabbed hold of his face, digging her sharp nails into his flesh. She was standing so close he could feel her breath on his lips. “Get.  **_Out,_ ** you foolish crippled thing.”

She turned away again and Jaime had half a mind to grab her again, to ravish her, to fuck her until they were both breathless but instead he left her chambers without another word. He hurried back to the white sword tower, the sun already having dipped down below the horizon. 

Jaime barely wasted a second after slamming the door shut behind him before he was fumbling with his breeches, cursing his uncoordinated hand as he kicked off his boots and lowered his trousers and immediately began to stroke himself, groaning as thoughts of Cersei riding him, dainty hands around his throat, sharp white teeth biting his lip as she kissed him filled his head. But other thoughts crept in, thoughts he couldn’t push away no matter how hard he tried. 

Brienne underneath him as he took her maidenhood. Her whimpering and begging for him, big blue eyes unsure about what was happening, hands bound behind her as she called him Ser and writhed beneath him.

Back and forth, back and forth the two women would appear, one dominating and the other submitting. First Brienne, then Cersei, Cersei and Brienne, Brienne and Jaime, Cersei and Jaime, Brienne giving into him, giving into her, Jaime picturing the three blondes together as he stroked himself harder and harder, faster and faster...

It wasn’t until afterwards as he laid there in bed, pants still undone and panting as he fought to catch his breath, that he realized what exactly he had just imagined. 

Jaime never before needed to picture another woman other than his sister before, certainly not a woman like Brienne and he most definitely hadn’t ever pictured Cersei with anyone else much less another woman. He grew jealous when other men looked at her. She would flash them a flirty smile and purr her answers when they spoke to her, smirking at Jaime all the while as though daring him to say something. But it was different, somehow, when it was another woman. He didn’t feel a raging jealousy when he pictured the queen and tall blonde warrior, he just felt attraction when he imagined them together. A very strong attraction. To the point he couldn’t remember cumming as hard as he just had.

Jaime stood up from the bed, mopping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand, and after pulling on a pair of loose fitting sleep britches he made his way over to his desk, got out a fresh piece of parchment and began to draw. He started with Brienne sitting down and staring upwards, eyes wide, brow furrowed slightly and short hair ruffled, face dotted with freckles. 

And then… then he began work on Cersei. 

He made her straddle the tall blonde as her dainty hand cupped the knights face, skirts hiked up to her thighs and looking down at Brienne with an almost affectionate but predatory gaze. The knights hands disappeared between the queens legs which were perhaps a bit thicker then they were in real life but it was his fantasy, and in the end it was one of his better sketches. 

He closed his eyes as he pictured his twin kissing Brienne, sucking her bottom lip and brushing her tongue against hers. She would be nervous at first, trembling under Cersei’s touch, big blue eyes wide in fear and wonderment and whimpering as Cersei kissed her while she slid her dainty hand in between her long legs. The lioness would purr Brienne’s name, leaving marks and bites on her swan-like neck. Brienne would gasp, and bury long fingers in long golden hair as she kissed Cersei back.

His fingers flew as he drew more and more, again and again of the same two women in various degrees of dress and different positions but mostly Cersei was atop Brienne. 

Her head would be buried between her thick strong thighs, or her lips would suckle at the small pink nipples while she pinched and twisted the other. Brienne's back would be arched, her eyes closed and her swollen lips parted as Cersei’s fingers danced and pushed and twisted inside her. One of his favorites was the two of them bare before each to ever, Cersei cupping her face and Brienne's large hands gripping the queen's thigh. All of his twins' curves, flattering and not, were on full display as Brienne, arms thick with hard muscle, looked at her with desire and a tender affection, lips mere inches from the other. He pictured Brienne’s other hand sliding between the queens legs, and Cersei would ride her fingers just as hard as she rode Jaime’s cock, Brienne's thick calloused fingers getting her just as wet as Jaime’s did. 

The hour grew late, and Jaime was struggling to keep his eyes open. He finally gathered up the stack of drawings and put them away in his drawer. No one would dare rummage through the Lord Commanders things and even if they did he could simply say he confiscated them from some whorehouse in order to protect the two women’s honor. The blonde whores of Kingslanding often dressed themselves in red and gold in hopes of getting the men to pay extra for a chance to imagine they were fucking the queen and it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary for whoremongers to sell drawings of the nobility in inappropriate or perverse positions. 

Jaime headed off to bed, falling asleep rather quickly, his dreams full of the two women that left his sheets a mess when he woke up the next morning. 

He washed the sleep from his eyes and dressed himself in his white armor. He set the schedule for the day, assigned the men their duties, and pursed his lips as he sat down to an empty table in his chambers. 

Before he lost his hand when the king was away he would always dine with Cersei, or his sworn brothers when Robert was there. Now though, being the Lord Commander, he was awake before most of them were and Cersei… she hadn’t wanted to share a meal with him since he returned, and he was sick of breaking his fast alone.

“Go and fetch the Lady Brienne,” he told the servant when they brought up his breakfast. “Tell her I wish to dine with her this morning.”

It took a short while, but eventually she made her way to his chambers and Jaime drew a sharp breath when he saw her. 

She wasn’t in her sparring clothes as he normally saw her in, but a rather conservative dress that fit her rather nicely. And that color…

“Blue is a good color on you, My Lady,” said Jaime, rising to meet her. “It goes well with your eyes.”

_ She does have astonishing eyes. _

She flushed and cast her eyes downwards. “The- the bodice, its padded,” she muttered, and Jaime realized he must have made his staring a bit too closely at her chest. “The septa said you sent her to me… Was- was there a reason you called on me?”

_ How can one woman be so bold in the training yard but so shy everywhere else? _

“Just wanted to invite you to break your fast,” he motioned to the chair and she promptly sat, looking more like she was facing an execution rather than a rasher of bacon. “We don’t see eachother much outside of our sparring sessions, and I was beginning to miss that ugly wenchy face of yours.”

She jerked her head up to toss him a glare but when she saw the teasing smirk she simply rolled her eyes and leaned back, far more relaxed then she had been moments ago. “How a charming man such as yourself finds himself dining alone is a mystery,” she said rather dryly as she poured herself a glass of cider and began to spread preserves on her toast.

“Not a big secret as to why, really.” He snickered and held up the golden hand. “This would be enough to turn anyone’s stomach I imagine.”

That joke fell rather flat. In fact, the look she gave him, not one of pity but sadness, was enough to make him turn away from her. The next thing he knew Brienne was reaching across the table and fiddling with the straps of the blasted metal hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked her.

“This can’t be comfortable,” she said, as boldly as she could as she pulled it off and Jaime bit back a moan of relief as the tight metal hinges were no longer digging into his skin and a hard uncushioned chunk of metal was no longer pressing up against the place where a hand once was. 

Her smile was soft and meek and shy, but encouraging all the same. Not a hint of disgust clouded her features as she pulled off the red leather slip exposing the hideous stump. “See? Doesn’t that feel better?”

Jaime pursed his lips, trying to ignore the gentle way her fingers lightly brushed then ugly medley of cross crossed scars with no hesitation, no flinches, no look of disgust… There was nothing but a warm tenderness. “It- it does,” he muttered. “Thank you.”

Her smile grew, and when she finally pulled back Jaime felt his heart fluttering madly, and he realized he missed her touching him. Not touching him in a way that would stir what was between his legs, but a gentle soft touch, like someone who loved someone would touch him. 

Like how he wished Cersei would touch him.

After breakfast she left him to attend his duties for the day. There was a small council meeting to attend, reports to receive, and he had to start his planning for a great tourney to celebrate the new queen in the upcoming weeks. Jaime had to figure out logistics, which men he could spare if they wanted to fight (Loras would for sure sign up to joust while some of the others would want to try their hand at the melee) and try to figure out a way to dissuade Joffrey from entering any of the bouts. 

Robert, the great brute for all his faults, would have laughed and bought the winner a round of ale, clapping the man on the shoulder for knocking him on his ass as they drank together. Joffrey would have the winners tongue and eyes cut out, that is if any man was bold enough to try to hit him, and he had a sickening feeling he would object to the tourney swords he would use. Maybe Jaime could suggest he do the archery tournament instead of the melee or joust. Joffrey would still be able to compete, the competitors would still be able to give him a win and no one would be hurt except a few archers egos and a straw target. 

When that was settled he changed from his armor to a simple outfit he would spar in, a supple outfit of soft red leather, and made his way to the cliff side where Brienne was waiting for him no longer in her blue gown but a plain dark shirt and brown breeches, no nonsense, no frills… the same as she always looked when they fought, but something was different about her. The sun in her hair made the pale straw color shine almost like gold, and her pretty blue eyes seemed to almost sparkle when she greeted him.

_ In this light she could almost be a beauty, _ he decided as he took hold of the sparring sword.  _ In this light she could almost be a knight. _

The two of them danced their dance with blunted steel. Back and forth, back and forth for hours upon hours. Moving, fighting, grunting, groaning, moving into her, panting, gasping, faster faster faster until, finally, she called it a day and they both sat down on the edge of the cliff sharing a wineskin of water.

“You’re getting along well,” said Brienne as she passed the skin. “Your grip is still particularly weak but that’ll come back when you gain more strength in your left hand, and your movements are getting much better. You know them better than me, it’s almost as if you just need to retrain your mind to swing left rather than right.”

Jaime snorted as he took a drink. “If the stupidest Lannister needs to ‘refrain his mind’, then you and me are going to be on this cliff for a very long time.”

Her face fell and Jaime felt that tight clenching pain in his chest again. Why would she not allow him to disparage himself? “You’re not stupid, Ser.” Her face went pink with flush. “You’re one of the most intelligent men I know.”

He laughed again. Even now he would rather swing a sword then open a book, and when he did it took a long while to read even a few pages considering how the letters liked to reverse themselves. “Gods has everyone you’ve met apart from me been as dumb as the Mountain?”

“No,” she said stubbornly. “Maybe… maybe you aren’t ‘book smart’ or well versed in politics but you know battles. You know people, you know swordplay better than any man alive, you know the difference between a destrier and a run of the mill stallion or a palfrey, you’re wittier than any man I’ve ever come across... You ARE intelligent, Ser Jaime. No matter what Cer- certain people say.”

Jaime bowed his head. The heat of the late autumn sun was waning, and a brisk wind stung his eyes and made them wet.

“Ser? Forgive me,” she said quickly thinking she had offended. “I meant no offense.”

“No, no, it’s… you’re fine, Brienne.” He cleared his throat and lifted his head. He gave her as much of a smile as he could. “Thank you for the kind words, My Lady.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief and her shy timid smile was as endearing as ever, and a warmth spread throughout his chest at the sight of it. “You’re welcome, My Lord.”

Afterwards they returned to the keep Jaime invited her to dine with him for supper.

“Twice?” she asked with a raised brow. “In one day?”

“Do you have better plans?”

“I- no but-.”

“Do you not wish to have the pleasure of my company?”

“No, that’s not it at all but-.”

“Terrific. Then I’ll see you in an hour.” She let her annoyance be known in a sigh but rather than fight a losing battle she merely nodded. 

“I’ll be there, Ser Jaime.”

“Thank you, Lady Brienne.” He started to walk up the stairs to the white sword tower when he turned on his heel and called out to her. “Wear something blue.”

She furrowed her brow. “Any particular reason?”

“Because as I said this morning; that color looks as beautiful on you as your eyes do any other time.”

He would have laughed at the crimson blush that overwhelmed her paleness but instead he just turned and headed up, up, up the stairs, pausing when he saw the Cersei’s men standing outside his chambers.

“Is she in there?” he asked the knight clad in Lannister red, and he nodded. He sighed, rubbed his temples and thanked them before he went inside, freezing stone cold dead as he caught sight of his top desk drawer wide open, and Cersei looking at his drawings.

His twin lifted her head and smiled the most dangerous smile he had ever seen as she held up a sketch of his sister with her face buried between the wenches legs, making her back arch and her head thrown back in ecstasy, long calloused fingers clutching at soft golden hair. 

“I think,” the lioness said. “That you and I need to have a chat, dear brother…”


	2. Chapter 2

_Lie! Lie for fucks sake! You’re a Lannister, that’s what you’re best at!_

His face went as passive as he could manage. “Those?” Jaime said as if they were no particular interest to him. “They’re just drawings some of my men found in a brothel, I had them confiscated.”

Cersei raised a brow at her twin and and turned her attention back to the drawings, shuffling them around and finally holding out a drawing he had done of Tyrion. Their younger brother looked dignified and proud, a man anyone would be proud to claim as a lion. “These brothels, they drew a false portrait of the little imp too?”

His brow grew wet and damp with a sheen of sweat. 

“It’s a very common style of drawing. Why were you in my drawers Cersei?” 

An admission in all but name, and the dangerous smile her lips curled into confirmed she knew it well. “I’m the queen. I’m allowed entrance into any room in this keep and allowed to look in any hiding place I deem fit.” She held up another drawing of her sitting atop Brienne's face as she laid bound to the bed, hands gripping short pale yellow hair, eyes fluttered shut and painted lips parted in ecstasy. “This ones my favorite. It’s the only one where I’m not doing all the work.”

“Cersei-.”

“Although I must say I’m not a fan of the stretch marks,” she mused. “And just how thick do you think my thighs are?”

Jaime reached out to grab them back but she was faster than his left and snatched them out of reach. She strutted around his room, hips swaying not with any conscious effort but this was just how she walked about. 

“I’m sorry,” said Jaime. She didn’t look at him and instead just looked at the drawings. Amusement painted her expression but her eyes were two balls of bright and deadly wildfire; uncontrolled and uncontained. “Cersei I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-.”

“It’s curious.” She sat down on his chair, leaning back, arms on the rests and looking as if she were a king on the throne. “Why aren’t you in any of these?” His twin finally turned her fiery gaze towards him and sneered, and he shuddered as fear soured him and his want sweetened. “Afraid that even an ugly creature like her wouldn’t want to be with a dishonorable one handed sister fucker like you?” 

He pursed his lips, the insults striking him right where she knew his armor was chinked. Her laugh was light and beautiful and airy, music to even a deaf man’s ears and greatly mismatching the anger simmering in the queens blood. “So?”

“So? So what, these are **_nothing_ **, Cersei. Just stupid drawings.” His eyes smouldered the way she knew she liked and walked up to her, slowly, doing his best not to fumble as he undid the ties on his shirt and letting it fall open. She didn’t even flinch. “They amused me, that’s all. The most beautiful woman in the world, the light of the west, with that great beast? You can’t tell me it didn’t make you laugh.”

He kneeled before her and pushed her skirts up, letting his hand trail along her soft flawless skin. Before he could press his lips to her leg she grabbed hold of his face, her dagger sharp nails digging into his flesh. She tipped his head back, back, back until his neck was screaming and he was looking up at her. Any faux amusement had gone from her and he swallowed hard as she stood, taking him with her. Jaime stood over half a foot taller than his sister yet it felt as if she towered over even the mountain.

All her fury was raging but that smile, that murderous, dangerous smile… that was what made him want to tremble. That was what made him want to run to Brienne’s chambers and protect her from whatever punishment Cersei decided to doll out.

“So you don’t get off on this?” she purred in a low whisper. She held up the drawing of her going down on the tall Wench. “You don’t want to watch me wrap my lips around those pathetically small tits and suck and bite, scraping my teeth and rubbing my tongue against those perfect little nipples?” Cersei leaned up and took his ear in her mouth and bit down, giving it a sharp yank. “The way you like to do it to me?” she breathed, kissing him behind his ear and flicking her tongue against him.

He gripped her arms tight and he was rewarded with a sharp slap across the face and he quickly lowered them. “Cersei…” It came out a strained growl that rumbled low in his throat. He could feel her lips against his skin and his cock seemed to have a mind all of its own as it jumped to attention.

“You don’t want me to bind her arms to the headboard?” She reached between his legs and grabbed hold of his cock, rubbing it through his breeches. His hands clenched, but he did not lift them. She hadn’t given permission to touch her. “You don’t want me to make her **_beg_ ** for my lips on her fat pink untouched pussy? You don’t want me to taste her, to kiss her, to jam my tongue in her after I’ve licked and sucked at her sweet little clit until she’s shaking and pleading with her queen to give her some sort of release?”

His knees went weak and it took everything in him to remain standing. Her hand slipped inside his trousers and was stroking him hard, rubbing the pad of her thumb on the top of his head that was already wet with pre-cum. “I could fuck her cunt with my tongue,” she panted in his ear, licking and biting the entire length of his neck, taking no care not to leave any marks. Her hand moved faster and faster, gripping his smooth and hard clock painfully tight and scraping her nails against him.

“I could put my fingers in her ass and you… you could be fucking her up top. Every hole filled, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself. Her mouth is nice and warm and wet, just like her pussy, and she gags because of how thick and big you are. But your beast of a woman can take every...single... inch…”

His groin tightened and he was making no attempts to stifle his moans, not caring that the guards were out there. The rumors were already spread, let them confirm them, Jaime didn’t care. All he cares about was Cersei. 

Cersei and her warm, tight hand around his cock stroking him and her lips hot and wet behind his ear. He was thrusting into her hand and it was torture not to touch her, to not throw her down on the ground and fuck her mercilessly, bruising her, kissing her, slamming into her tight wetness that was as slick as anything he had ever touched until she was screaming his name. 

“Cersei-!” he gasped, his voice choked with desire. Gods if she could just keep going, faster and faster, just like that, right there, yes, right there… “Cer- Cersei!”

Just like that! Just like that, just like that, harder, faster, he was thrusting into her hand harder and harder! Faster and faster, gripping him tighter and tighter until-!

She stopped.

Jaime gripped his chair to keep from collapsing as he looked up at her, the unbearable tightness in his groin as painful as anything he ever experienced. No… no, this wasn’t her, this wasn’t right. She always let him finish, she always…

“Please,” he begged her. She tried to grab her hand to put it on him again but she slapped him, and he bit his lip so hard he drew blood. His hand shook as he gripped his thigh, nails digging into his flesh. His cock was pulsing and his balls felt like they were about to burst. “Cersei, please.”

His sister gave him an innocent smile. “If you excuse me, Lord Commander.” She wiped her hand in his shirt and curtseyed a perfect pretty little curtsey. “Many things to see to.”

When she went to leave he reached out and grabbed her by the arm, yanking her back around. She went to slap him again but he managed to get his golden hand up in time and she hissed a curse as her hand hit nothing but metal. “You will not hurt her,” he snarled though the pain as dangerously as she had ever heard, to where even her own eyes got wide. “You do not touch Brienne. She had nothing to do with this, she doesn’t know about these drawings. If you hurt her, or have anyone touch her in your stead, I am **_done_ ** with you, Cersei,” he spat. “Done with your games, done with you in your entirety, done as your brother and your lover. Do you understand me?”

He had hoped to frighten her, but instead she just smiled that infuriating snake smile of hers and turned on her heel and walking out of the room, striding right past her blushing guards with her head held high.

Jaime stumbled to the door and slammed it shut, not even making it to the bed before he was finishing himself off, gasping and collapsing to his knees when he finally came. He flipped himself around and laid there on his back staring up at the tall white stone ceiling, panting. 

This was bad. This was bad, this was monumentally bad. Cersei was gonna kill her. She would kill them both. He never should have drawn those stupid drawings, he should have destroyed them the moment he finished scraping the charcoal across the parchment. Jaime had to get Brienne out of there. It was already dangerous having her there under Cersei’s knowing she had been tasked to bring their new good-sister back to her home but now that danger had stepped up significantly. 

He nursed a cup of wine over near an hour, his mind whirling with a plan to get Brienne out of King’s Landing and finally landing on one that was, in hindsight, rather practical. It would be risky, with many people involved, but if it kept her out of Cersei’s reach he had to try. Not to mention he had sworn an oath to Catelyn, to get the girls back to their mother, or at least to the North now that she was gone courtesy of his father. 

Jaime washed and dressed himself in an outfit fit for sharing a meal with the maid of Tarth, his stomach empty and his mind full. There was a knock at his door and after making sure the drawings were stowed away in the bottom of his locked chest he let the maids set up the dinner and sure enough not even two minutes after they left there was a dutiful knock on the door and when he opened it he found his wench standing there. 

Brienne had done as he requested. Her breeches were plain black but her high collared shirt was soft blue silk, with dark pink siding that seemed to give her the illusion of curves. A simple yellow sun pendant with a sapphire in its center hung between her breasts.

He wasn’t sure exactly how much he had ended up paying the septa to fit Brienne for new clothes suitable for a Highborn lady staying as a guest in the Red Keep but it had been well, **_well_ **, worth it.

“You look phenomenal, My Lady.”

She blushed and turned her gaze to the floor, her plump lips curling into a shy smile that she quickly extinguished before she looked back up at him. “Thank you, My Lord.”

They both sat down to their meal and Jaime poured her a cup of cider, knowing she would turn away any offered wine and clinked his glass against hers, taking a long drink of the sweet red. He took a bite of the roast capron, glad that the servants had the foresight to cut it prior to him receiving it.

“Your oath to Lady Stark,” he said once he swallowed. “To get the Stark girls, or Sansa at least considering the little one is probably dead, back to their mother. Do you still feel honor bound to keep it? Even though it’s to a dead woman?”

“The death of one does not release you from a vow,” she said, taking a sip of cider. “But you said yourself there’s a complication. I need to figure out a way to get her away from Tyrion first.”

Jaime shrugged, taking another bite. “What if you didn’t have to? Get away from Tyrion I mean.nYoung women are forced to wed older men all the time. It’s not their eagerness or consent they want, it’s only their name and all that goes with it. Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right,” he said when she shot him a glare. “Even you would be a sweet plum to some minor Lord or lauded knight who’d get control of the biggest marble trade in all of Westeros and a castle by the sea if he draped a cloak over your shoulders.”

A flush turned her cheeks red as she bowed her head. He wondered if he had opened old wounds or if the thought of discussing her marriage was what caused her to blush. He hoped it was the latter. “What happened to Sansa is tragic, yes. Forcing any girl to marry a man against their will is a tragedy, especially to one such as my brother. But it is not unusual.”

“What are you saying?” she asked when she finally raised her gaze again. 

“I’m saying that Tyrion is the Warden of the North and Lord of Winterfell.”

“The North belongs to the Starks,” she said, fiercely stubborn and stubbornly loyal. Jaime shushed her, reminding her the walls had ears.

“It may in practice, but the laws of man says he is the rightful ruler over that drab and dreary keep. And the rightful ruler of Winterfell should be AT Winterfell.”

A smile crept up into her plump swollen lips. It was wide and showed far too much teeth, but it wasn’t one to be forgotten. Just like the rest of her. “And his Lady Wife’s place would be by his side.”

He smirked and raised his glass. “Precisely the point I was going to make. We’ve been sitting here trying to figure out a way to steal her away but what if there was a way to get her to safety where she simply has to stroll out the front door, sworn shield by her side? Granted it won’t be the heroic fantastical quest I’m sure you envisioned when you made your vow to bring them back but-.”

“All I care about is keeping Sansa safe,” Brienne said, and Jaime believed her.

He would not have believed any other knight who said they cared only for the safety of their charge rather than something they could make a song out of, but with Brienne he did.

“My brothers told me they haven’t consummated the marriage yet.” Her big blue eyes went wide with shock. “So once they reach the North I’m sure the few Septons there are up there will be fighting one another for the chance to annul it.”

“He-... they haven’t-...?”

“Fucked? She's fourteen and forcibly wed, of course they haven’t.” His smile was humorless. “Are you surprised the imp has a shred of honor?”

“Of course not! It’s just… most men, of any height, wouldn't care about her age or the circumstances surrounding the marriage.”

“Lannisters aren’t like most men. I’m certainly not.”

“I know. You would never force a woman,” she muttered. “Nor would you ever need too.”

Jaime laughed. “Yes; a middle aged Kingslayer with one hand whose house name is universally loathed. I’m the catch of Westeros.”

“You’re handsome, Highborn and rich,” Brienne reminded him. “Despite the rumors surrounding you you’re still an anointed knight. You’re witty, you’re brave, you’re kind when you want to be, and you’re a man of honor.” Her face went a brilliant shade of red. “Any woman would be lucky and grateful to have you as theirs.”

 _Tell that to Cersei_ , he wanted to say. But instead he just lifted his cup and thanked her with a soft warm smile that none but Brienne ever saw. 

He was almost tempted to ask her if she would be happy but he decided against it. Instead they finished up their meal, with Jaime promising to bring it up to Tyrion as soon as they were done here. When the plates were cleared and their cups were drained the two of them stood, and Jaime walked her to the door.

“Care to break your fast with me tomorrow?” he asked as they stood in the doorway. Instead of arguing she just nodded and Jaime smiled. “Good. Oh and Brienne?”

“Yes, Ser Jaime?”

“You as well.”

She blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The way you said any woman would be happy to be mine? That goes for you as well. Any knight or lord would be lucky to be yours.”

“For my island’s trade?”

“No. For you.” He chuckled at the shocked look on her face and he gave her a polite bow of his head. “Have a good night, Lady Brienne.”


End file.
